Black Roses
by Stone Moss
Summary: "You've got to accept reality no matter how hard it is for you to believe."  Unknown Source


I watched as your ears perked up as someone knocked on the door. A large smile appears on your youthful face as you make your way to the door. You wait and flash me a smile that's missing a tooth or two. I know who you're expecting to be standing outside the door. I smile sadly, hoping the same thing, even though I know the possibilities are one in a million.

You get impatient and reach toward the knob. Your stubby fingers miss by inches and you get frustrated. Then, our cruel aunt's voice rings out.

"Amelia, get the door!" she barks.

I set down the book that I was previously reading and walk towards the door. Your face morphs into one of hope.

"It's them!" You cry out, clapping your hands together gleefully.

I know better than to get my hopes up. I know they're not coming back. _You_, however, know not of such thing. As I extend my arm to open the door, you stop breathing. You're holding your breath, wishing for a fantasy.

"I know it's them! They've come back!" You shout as my hand rests on the door knob.

I can see a shadow of a person through the door. _One_ person. Not _two _people. That's when all the hope leaves, not that I had much left. I slowly open the door and you stand there, waiting for the people who you are expecting to sweep you up in their arms and hug and kiss you.

"Package for Ms. Beatrice Cahill."

I can practically see your fantasy come crashing down. It's heartbreaking. That's when water start to flow from your eyes, which usually doesn't happen.

"Why aren't they h-here, Amy?" You ask, barely getting the question out through your tears.

I shake my head, pretending not to know.

But here's the thing: I do know. You don't though and that's the most important thing.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The same thing happened the next day. You build your hopes up and they come crashing back down. You wait at the door, hoping. But now, I can see that reality is slowly invading your juvenile mind. Your jade eyes are losing their usual playful glint and that is being replaced by sorrow; an emotion not common for a four-year-old.

"They'll come back," You insist for the umpteenth time.

You've said the same thing over and over. I just nod and assure you that they will. I know that's not a good move on my part though. I should tell you the truth and have you accept it.

But first _I _have to accept it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A couple days later, you've forgotten your fantasy. You know they're gone, but you're waiting for a spark to ignite your hopes once more. And today, you found it.

Our aunt desperately wanted to go shopping to add to her bizarre wardrobe. She made us tag along, as usual. We're walking along the path of the outside and I wasn't bothering to look in any of the store windows for I wouldn't be receiving any new clothes.

"C'mon, Amelia! Walk faster!" Aunt Beatrice snapped.

I picked up my pace and she handed me a bag to hold. I didn't protest as many bags found themselves in my little arms.

"I can hold some," You offer.

I smile and hand you two bags of clothes. "Thanks."

As you pile them into your arms, you accidently drop one. You quickly bend down to pick the bag up, but a large hand reaches out and picks it up before you can. You glance up and meet green eyes.

Jade green eyes.

Even though the man had chocolate hair, but I couldn't deny that he looked like-

"Daddy!" You squealed.

You hung onto the man's leg and he tried desperately to get you off but to no avail. Let's just say you had a tight grip.

"Get off!" The man yelled, shaking his leg.

"No, Daddy! Don't you remember me?" You yelled at the man.

Something was different about your face though. It was almost as if you knew that he wasn't the man you thought him as, but you wanted to believe that he was _so _badly that you had convinced yourself. I then pried you off his leg and apologized for your behavior. The man walked away and you turned on me.

"Why is Daddy leaving?" You ask, tears welling up in your confused eyes. "Doesn't he love me? Doesn't he love us?"

"That's not him," I mumble.

"Yeah it is!" You shout at me. "You're wrong!" However, your eyes are filled with doubt and you know that _you're _the one who is wrong.

"I'm sorry, but that's not him," I said, trying not to let the sadness into my monotone voice.

"No! Daddy was right there! Mommy's here somewhere, too!" You shout, looking up and down the street.

I just shake my head, no words are needed.

"You're wrong," You repeat, but this time with a softer tone. "You're wrong…"

How I wish you were right.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I see you putting on your black suit, frowning either from the thought of dressing up or thinking about the event we are about to attend.

"Hurry up!" Beatrice snapped.

I brushed off any morsel of dust on my ebony dress. I couldn't deny that I was upset. I had shed so many tears that I thought it wasn't possible for me to cry more…

Aunt Beatrice hustled us into the backseat and we sped off. I looked up at her face and a deep scowl stretched her lips. I look at you and you're wearing the same expression. We probably all are. No one said a word as we drove. I was fine with that and it seemed you were as well. You were deep in your thoughts, which is unusual for you.

"Get out," Aunt Beatrice commanded, holding the door open for us, which was unusual for her as well.

I hop out and see some of the family here. I noticed that the rich family was here, the Kabras. They didn't look sad though, quite the opposite, actually. It was rather disheartening. Then I see Grace and she strides over to us and wraps us into a hug. She doesn't say a word, but directs us to our seats. A man dressed in black stands at the top of a stage and he clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.

"You are gathered here today-"

It was strange how he started off like a wedding, which was anything but where we are.

"-for the loss of two lovely people. Hope and Arthur Cahill."

At the mentioning of her daughter's name, Grace chokes up and wipes a tear from her old face.

"They were more than people. They were spectacular parents to two beautiful children-"

You look at me. Tears are flowing down your chubby face and you wipe them away, but they keep coming back. I can feel the same thing is happening to me.

"Perhaps one of them would like to say something?"

The man in black glances at us and we both shake our heads. Even if we had tried, nobody could've understood us. Me with my stutter and you with sobs drowning out any other sound to leave your mouth.

"I would like to say something," Grace says, standing up.

She rises from her seat and makes her way towards the pedestal. She clears her throat and gathers herself. I feel you grab my hand and I give it a squeeze. Grace opens her mouth but stops herself. You shoot a questioningly look at me and I shrug. Suddenly, Grace whispers something to the man in black. He nods and Grace hands him something.

"It seems as if Madame Cahill has prepared something for us," the man said.

He clicks a button and a screen unveils itself. We wait patiently and the screen flickers to life. I look up and a picture of them is blown up on the projector. They are both smiling and my eyes grew moist. Pretty soon, my cheeks are stained with tears. You look at me and lean on my shoulder. I wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you close. You're all I have now.

The man hits the remote and the slide changes. I can't take my eyes off the picture. It's your birthday, as in your very first one. You take your head off my shoulder and your eyes are instantly glued to the screen. More slides are revealed and each one is as saddening as the one before it. The screen turns black and the slide show is over. I instantly feel detached from them. You grip my hand harder and I know you're sharing my thoughts.

The ceremony ends and people rise from their seats. They begin a small line and I make sure to get behind you. I can't tear my eyes away from you as you wait in line. You're playing with the blood-red rose in your hand. Finally, when you get to the front of the queue, I see you place the rose down along with many others. You wipe a tear away and come and stand next to me. You've accepted reality. You've given in to the truth.

I hesitate before I set the black rose down.

Now it's time for me to.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks so much for reading! I hoped you liked this little...one-shot of depression. Thanks so much to Lapulta for beta-ing! Don't forget to review and I appreciate lots of CC. As in _lots_! :)**

**~Nataliya**

**Oh, and P.S. a black rose means death, and that is how I chose the title! **


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